


another dream lover

by apostolosian (mercutioes)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 10,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/apostolosian
Summary: collecting all my little teeny ficsmost are mature or explicit - the ones that aren't nsfw are marked with (sfw) in the chapter title





	1. adelaide/hella (coming without being touched)

**Author's Note:**

> i used this kink generator (cw for some unsavory prompts): http://shiny.kirax2.org/kinks.html
> 
> title from "dream lover" by the vaccines

Hella drifts in that state between waking and sleeping, where dreams bleed into reality and she can’t quite tell what’s true.

Adelaide’s hands feel true though.  They feel _material_ , long nails biting into her hip and her other hand twisting cruelly at her nipple.  They feel real when they delve inside her, rough and demanding and spreading her wide open.  It feel real when Hella shakes apart right there on the stone floor of the throne room, cunt clenching and sweat dripping down her neck, mouth open in a silent shout.

But when she wakes, there are no bruises and no signs that it was ever real, only the wetness between her thighs and the sweat on her brow and a smug laugh ringing in her ears any proof that Adelaide was ever truly there.


	2. tender sky/fourteen fifteen/...signet... (sensory overload or enhancement)

New bodies are always so raw when Fourteen enters them.  Their nerve endings light up like so many Christmas trees in those first hours of habitation, every soft touch and brush of fingers like fire on their foreign skin.

Tender and Signet are so gentle with them every time they jump, conscientious of their unfamiliar body.  Fourteen supposes they should be grateful that they have partners who acclimate so readily to a new appearance, let alone delight in it the way Tender and Signet do.

This time, Fourteen has emerged in the body of a dancer, long limbs and sheets of smooth black hair falling across their face, their features dark and fine.  Signet curls next to them on the couch, runs her delicate fingers through their hair.  Every once in a while, her nails catch on their scalp and they give a full-bodied shiver, the sensation magnified a thousandfold by their newness.  On one pass, her nails reach further down their neck and they gasp, trailing into a low moan.  They feel Signet’s fingers pause and their cheeks heat.

Tender looks up from where she’s been laying across them, head in Fourteen’s lap.  The corner of her mouth quirks up, intrigued.  Slowly, she trails one long-nailed finger down Fourteen’s neck, their shoulder, down their arm.  Fourteen can’t help but shudder, breath leaving their lungs in a rush.  Tender grins, eyes sharp and playful, and Fourteen gulps.  Anticipation clenches like a vice in their gut.

Tender brings Fourteen’s hand up to her mouth, kissing at the inside of their wrist, the center of their palm, up the curve of their fingers.  Fourteen’s breath comes faster and shallower, every press of her lips like fire licking across their skin.  They hear Signet’s breath hitch but the motions of her nails along their scalp never falters.

They’re surrounded by sensation on all sides as Signet moves her long, long nails from their hair to their neck, their arm.  Her lips brush down their neck as Tender slides her lips around two of their fingers, licking between them.  It’s like a tsunami, waves of sensation crashing into Fourteen.  They cry out, head tossed back and eyes screwed shut against the onslaught.  Tender grins around their fingers, releasing them and leaning up to kiss Fourteen light and fast, nipping at their lower lip as Signet kisses down to their shoulder.  Fourteen can’t speak, can hardly move for the sensations running electric through their nervous system.

“Please,” they gasp, panting.  They open their eyes to find Signet and Tender grinning at them, predatory expressions on both of their faces.

Fourteen swallows hard and closes their eyes again.  Their body throbs like an exposed nerve and they tip their head back, an open invitation for whatever comes next.

Tender and Signet don’t disappoint.


	3. lem/emmanuel (sex standing up or against a wall)

Emmanuel isn’t exceptionally tall or wide for a human, but he’s not small, either.  His arms and legs are thickly muscled from working dough and carrying bags of flour and his middle is soft as an inevitable result of his chosen career path.  Most of his partners have been smaller than him in one way or another.

He’s not used to being towered over like this.  He’s _certainly_ not used to anyone wrapping their hands under his thighs and _lifting_ , pushing his back against the wall and kissing the living daylights out of him.

Lem manages to be a lot of firsts, all things considered.

Emmanuel moans and wraps his legs around Lem’s hips, pulling him closer as they make out like teenagers against the wall of the back room of the kitchen.  He honestly didn’t know this was a _thing_ for him before acquiring a seven-foot tall boyfriend, being manhandled and lifted off his feet and powerless, and he’s still not sure if it’s a general thing or just a Lem thing, but then Lem leaves biting kisses down his neck and then Emmanuel doesn’t think of much at all, just clenches his fists in Lem’s hair and tightens his legs around Lem’s waist.  Their arousals grind up against each other and Lem squeezes his thighs with a moan, pressing him harder into the storage room’s wall.  Emmanuel grins, exultant, yanking at Lem’s hair so he’ll kiss Emmanuel again.  They break away, panting, pupils blown and lips still close enough to share breath.

“No one’s ever picked me up during sex before,” gasps Emmanuel, chuckling breathlessly.  Lem’s eyes widen, almost as if he wasn’t aware of having lifted Emmanuel off his feet.

“Oh!” he exclaims, and he looks ready to drop Emmanuel at any moment.  “Oh, was… was that okay?”

Emmanuel laughs despite himself, leaning in to kiss Lem again, telling him just how _okay_ it was with lips and teeth and tongue.

“Does that answer your question?” he says when he pulls back, accent thick in the haze of his arousal.

Lem grins in response, hitches Emmanuel further up the wall and leans in again.


	4. orth/ibex (sex in a vehicle)

The cockpit of the Kingdom Come is small, cramped.  Hell, it’s barely big enough for Orth to fit with his broad shoulders and long limbs, let alone another person on top of him.

Then again, Ibex made his name by doing things once thought impossible.

And that’s what he does now, straddling Orth’s hips in the tiny cockpit of the ship, leaving searing kisses and bites along Orth’s jaw that no collar will cover up the next day.  It feels like sacrilege, like a betrayal to do this here, but Orth’s never been good at saying no to Ibex and this is no exception.

Ibex smirks down at him, looking for all the world like he’s sitting on a golden throne instead of perched on Orth’s lap in the cramped cockpit of a vessel on a doomed mission.  And in this moment, gazing up at the sleek, sharp lines of Ibex’s dark face, imperious and self-assured, Orth would almost believe that he was a king.


	5. alyosha/hadrian (penance)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw self-harm?? it's a self-flagellation fic

“Two more.”

Alyosha’s voice is warm, settling over Hadrian’s bare shoulders.  The cold stone of the church’s floor bites into his knees.  Hadrian’s hands shake, his whole body trembles – the night air is frigid and he is fully nude where he kneels at Alyosha’s feet.

It feels as though he’s not in control of his arms anymore, as if some power guides him in this act of penance, though whether it is divine or mundane Hadrian does not know.

He raises the tangle of braided cords by its handle and brings it down sharp on his own back, biting into the lashes already crisscrossing the wide expanse of skin.  He bites his lip to keep from crying out at the searing pain of it, screwing his eyes shut and taking deep, heaving breaths.  He can feel tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.  An unseen hand wipes them away before Alyosha straightens with a swish of silk robes and orders him to complete the final stroke.

After the last blow, the whip drops from Hadrian’s hands and clatters to the floor.  A single sob escapes his lips, rasping and relieved and broken.

Alyosha lifts Hadrian’s chin with a delicate finger and meets his eyes.  He looks proud of Hadrian, and that alone is enough to make this all worthwhile.  Alyosha is _proud_ of him, Alyosha has _absolved_ him.

Alyosha kneels in front of him and strokes his cheek, his hair, holds him as Hadrian cries into his shoulder, tears of pain and relief and gratitude.  And when the tears dry Alyosha kisses him softly, stroking Hadrian off with soothing murmurs and a steady hand.  With a dry sob, Hadrian spills into Alyosha’s fist, who wipes his hand off on a nearby rag, careful not to get any on his vestments.

Alyosha rubs salve into Hadrian’s shallow wounds, though the quiet praise falling from his lips is salve enough.  When he is done, he wraps Hadrian’s cloak around his raw shoulders and presses dry lips to Hadrian’s forehead for a long, long moment before standing and leaving without a word.

Hadrian sits there on the cold church floor for an hour or more before he has the presence of mind to gather his clothes and leave, careful to lock the heavy church doors behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> def inspired in part by this image: http://17kindsofnsfw.tumblr.com/post/160795079521/never-thought-youd-make-me-perspire-never


	6. mako/cassander (medical scenario)

Cass walks into the medbay and has to convince themself not to walk straight back out.

 _Just count to ten_ , they recite in their head, closing their eyes. _Deep breaths._

Unfortunately, when they open their eyes again, Mako is still sprawled on the cot wearing absolutely nothing but what Cass assumes is supposed to be a “sultry” look.

“Oh, _doctor_ ,” purrs Mako, batting his eyelashes.  “Are you here to… _examine me?”_

Cass stares at him for a long moment before speaking.

“What if AuDy had come in instead of me?  Or _Orth?_ ”

Mako’s sultry look disintegrates, replaced by a pout as he sits up out of his contorted position on the bed.

“C’mon Cass!  You’re supposed to play along!  Besides, it’s not like you have to act, you’re already a doctor.”

Cass goes over to the wall cabinet, rummaging through for the pills they came in here for in the first place.

“Mako, in what universe do you think I would _ever_ do a sexy doctor role-play?”

“I was hoping in this one!”  Mako hops up on the counter next to Cass and spreads his legs, just a bit, grabbing Cass’ lapels and tugging them to stand between his knees.  There’s suddenly a lot of skin and, role-play attempt or no, Mako naked is hard to resist.

“Come on,” says Mako.  “It’ll be fun, I promise.”  He looks up from under lashes so blond they’re almost clear, lips parted in a tempting curve.  Cass wages a furious inner battle with themself which is decided when Mako whispers a quiet, _please_ , and bites his lip.  They whirl around, remotely closing the medbay doors and locking them before picking Mako up bodily and tossing him onto the cot.  Mako grins, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as Cass pushes him down flat on his back with one hand on his chest.

“I think,” says Cass, leaning close.  “You need a _thorough_ examination.”

Mako laughs breathlessly before wrapping his arms around their neck and pulling them down with him.


	7. even/grand (fingering)

There’s something about Even’s fingers.  They’re thick, often caked with dirt or blood, nails unkempt and ragged.  More often than not, there’s plant matter underneath them, staining the pads of his fingers green and brown.  He’s nothing like Grand, Grand with pianist’s fingers clean and delicate, made for fine work and detailed modeling, for screens and holograms and not for digging and fighting and growing living things.

Grand doesn’t have much to do with living things – he prefers the cold, quiet elegance of metal and glass.  But there’s still something about Even’s _fingers._   And while Grand Magnificent might not be a grower of life, he’s still an explorer at heart.

So in the natural order of things, Grand ends up in Even’s tent one warm night, spread out on the ground with three of Even’s fingers, those damn _fingers_ , inside him, making him writhe and moan and sweat.  He’s been broken down, façade of disinterest lost to Even’s thick fingers crooking inside him and electrifying his whole body.

His legs shake as he comes with just a stroke or two from his own hand, shaking apart as Even fucks him through it and forgetting his indifference for one hot, searing moment.

The next morning, his flannel and his mask are firmly back in place.  When Even catches sight of him, he waves with a small, sardonic smirk, wiggling his fingers in a way that would seem innocent to anyone who wasn’t the one falling apart on them not eight hours before.

Needless to say, he has trouble looking at Even’s hands without having to fight down a flush.


	8. lem/fero (truth or dare)

“Truth or dare?”

It’s their ninth night on the road from the Archives and Lem and Fero have exhausted all but a few ideas to pass the time.  So they’ve resorted to playing truth or dare.

“Ah… truth.”  Lem suspects that Fero’s dares might involve bodily harm so he goes for the lesser of two evils.  Fero hums, leg bouncing as he sits next to the fire.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done drunk?”

Lem’s cheeks heat up under his olive skin as blurry memories flood back of his training years.

“I, uh… I may have been convinced to streak through the Northern Libraries?”

Fero collapses in laughter, almost falling off the log they’re seated on.  Lem groans, knowing he’ll never hear the end of this if Fero has his way.

“Okay, you answer one, then!”

“Fine,” Fero snorts.  “Hit me.”

Lem thinks for a long moment, trying to come up with the question that will get him the most dirt on his companion.

“What’s the worst kiss you’ve ever had?”

Fero freezes where he sits, just a hint of a blush rising to his tanned cheeks.

“Pass.”

“What!” Lem exclaims.  “You can’t just _pass_!”

“Well I don’t have an answer!” Fero retorts.  “All my kisses have been amazing, next question.”

Lem stares at him as Fero averts his eyes, leg bouncing faster.  Realization dawns.

“Fero,” he begins, quiet like he’s soothing a nervous animal.  “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Fero’s silence speaks louder than any answer could have.  And suddenly Lem has a bad idea.  An absolutely terrible idea.

“Fero, do you…”  He trails off, nerves getting the better of him before he can finish.  “Never mind.”

“What, Lem.”

“Do you want to try?”  A blank stare.  “Kissing… I mean.”

“With you?”  Fero’s expression is dubious and Lem isn’t sure whether he should feel insulted or not.

“Of course with me, who else?”  The silence stretches between them, awkward and long.  Lem looks away and pokes at the fire, trying to avoid Fero’s eyes.  “Sorry, sorry, forget it –”

“Okay.”  Lem looks up, startled.

“O… okay?”

“Yes, Lem,” Fero repeats, exasperated but a little nervous at the edge of his voice.  “Just… do it before I change my mind.”

So Lem scoots over on the log and cups Fero’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek, and leans in slowly.  Fero’s eyes slip closed, his breath hitching in anticipation.  And Lem closes the distance between them, meeting Fero’s chapped lips with his own, tentative and gentle.

Fero makes a surprised noise, hands coming up to rest on Lem’s shoulders.  They break apart, Fero’s eyes fluttering open, dazed and searching Lem’s own.  They breathe for a moment before Fero grabs Lem’s face between his hands and dives back in, enthusiasm making up for his inexperience as he devours Lem whole.

Lem gasps as Fero swings a leg over Lem’s hips and settles in his lap, never letting their mouths part.  Lem can’t breathe, can’t _think_ , so he takes Fero’s face in his hands, parts their mouths with an obscene sound.

“Slow down,” pants Lem.  Fero grins, eyes wild and pupils blown.

“Why should I?”

“Just trust me,” says Lem, and he leans in to bite at Fero’s bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth excruciatingly slow before releasing it.  Fero whines high in his throat, nails digging into Lem’s shoulders through his shirt.  Lem presses lips to the corner of Fero’s mouth, his jaw, the column of his throat.  He can feel Fero’s heart pounding rabbit-fast, can feel his breath coming shallow.

“God, _Lem_ …”

Lem bites hard at Fero’s collarbone and Fero yelps, hand clenching in Lem’s hair and _pulling_.  Lem moans low and deep at that, and Fero does it again, strands of hair falling loose from Lem’s bun.

Lem pulls back, meets Fero’s dazed eyes and flushed face and swollen lips.  He’s sure he can’t look much better.

“So,” says Lem, voice cracking.  “Was kissing everything you imagined?”

Fero grins at him, leans in again.

“I don’t know yet,” he says, almost brushing Lem’s lips with every word.  “I think we have to try again to find out.”


	9. gig/echo (trapped together) (sfw)

They’re trapped.  The cave-in hasn’t harmed either of them but has blocked their only exit.  Echo kicks a rock in frustration as Grand’s voice comes through their comms.

“Stay put, Even and I will go get something to dig you out,” he says.  Echo can hear Grand muttering about the artistic possibilities of mechs inspired by rockslides before they mute their comms entirely, sliding down the cave wall with a long sigh.

“Hey, it’s not all bad,” says Gig, sliding down next to them.  Echo raises a questioning eyebrow at him.  “Grand could be trapped in here with us.”

Echo snorts at that, leaning their head back against the rock.  They can’t sit still for long, though, and soon stand and walk the perimeter of the large cave, searching fruitlessly for a way out that they might have missed.

“Jeez, Echo, the cave hasn’t changed since the last seven times you looked at it.”

Echo glares at Gig where he still sits on the cave floor, poking at his streaming interface.

“At least I’m doing something,” they retort, folding their arms across their chest.  “What do _you_ think I should be doing?”

Gig powers down his interface and catches Echo’s eyes with a crafty smile.

“I can think of a couple things we could be doing that are a _lot_ more fun than staring at cave walls.”  He waggles his eyebrows ridiculously and Echo can’t help but laugh despite themself.  They look Gig up and down, deliberating.  He’s not bad-looking, all things considered, face dark and smooth and body lean underneath his frankly ridiculous outfit.  Echo sighs.

“You’d better make this worth my while,” says Echo, moving over to Gig and dropping down to straddle his thighs in one smooth, fluid motion.  Gig grins, his hands coming to rest on Echo’s lean hips.

“Don’t worry,” he says, leaning in to capture Echo’s mouth in a light, playful kiss, his stubble scraping Echo’s lips pleasantly.  He pulls back with a bite to Echo’s lower lip.  “I’m a natural performer.”


	10. samot/hadrian (finger sucking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by jag on the fucky discord...... Thank You

Usually, Hadrian’s dreams from the Boy-King are hazy, insubstantial – metaphors and symbols and omens that he has to unravel when he wakes up covered in sweat.

Sometimes, though, Samot is solid and real and whole.  And Hadrian might be Samothes’ sword, but it’s hard to ignore a god when he’s right in front of you and shining and commanding in a way that words can’t describe.  So when Samot motions for Hadrian to kneel by his chair at the long dining table Samot is seated at, Hadrian does so without a second though.  After all, what is a paladin for but to kneel?

Samot doesn’t demand anything of him yet, simply strokes a hand over his hair and continues to pore over the maps spread out on the table.  Hadrian leans into the touch, letting his eyes fall shut as he kneels for what feels like days, time swimming around him but never touching this room.  He’s naked but not cold, and the stone floor of this dream doesn’t bite into his knees.

“Hadrian,” comes Samot’s gentle voice, ragged and exhausted but still somehow the most beautiful sound Hadrian has ever heard.  He opens his eyes slowly and Samot lifts his chin with a finger, smile thin but fond.

“My soldier,” he says, tracing his finger over Hadrian’s brow, his cheek, his eyelids and the slope of his nose.  “When will you give yourself over to me?”  Hadrian doesn’t answer as Samot traces his lips with a soft touch.  Even if he could speak, he’s not sure he’d like the answer he might give.

So instead, Hadrian catches Samot’s finger between his lips, taking it into his mouth and laving his tongue over its length.  Samot sighs, turns in his chair so Hadrian is kneeling between his open legs.  Hadrian pulls back, bobs his head to take another finger into his mouth, tonguing at the join between them.

He closes his eyes and loses himself in the simple motion of it, the push and pull and Samot’s soft sighing from above him.  Hadrian notices distantly that he’s achingly hard, but it’s nothing compared to Samot’s soft moan when Hadrian grazes his teeth over the length of Samot’s fingers.  Samot pulls them slowly from Hadrian’s mouth, smearing spit over Hadrian’s full lips.  Samot laughs weakly, leans down in his chair to kiss Hadrian once, light and fleeting, before moving to murmur in his ear.

“You serve so well,” he whispers, stroking his spit-slick fingers once up Hadrian’s cock and making Hadrian gasp sharply.  He feels Samot smile against his ear.  “I hope you find your way, paladin.”

Hadrian wakes up in a cold sweat, aching and with the phantom weight of fingers on his tongue.


	11. jacqui/aria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jacqui/aria as prompted by keesh!!! this got away from me!!!
> 
> terrible lyrics are from "i wanna sex you up" by color me badd lol

They’re so drunk and so caught up in each other that, with a distracted flick of her wrist, Aria puts her whole music library on shuffle without a second thought.  For a couple songs it’s fine, nondescript unfinished techno tracks pounding low in Aria’s quarters while she bites an extremely showy hickey into Jacqui’s neck as Jacqui gasps above her where Aria’s pressed her into the cool metal wall.  Jacqui grabs a handful of Aria’s ass and Aria grins against Jacqui’s skin, hoisting one of Jacqui’s legs up around her waist.

Suddenly, Jacqui snorts and Aria pulls back to notice that the speakers have switched to one of her _old_ songs.  It’s an embarrassing remnant of when JoyPark had decided that she needed to “edge up” her image, sell her as sexy instead of sweet.  It’s ham-handed at best and ridiculously, dramatically lewd at worst.  Aria groans and rests her forehead against Jacqui’s collarbone as her girlfriend laughs uncontrollably above her.

“ _Come on_ , Jacqui,” Aria whines, pouting up at her.  “You can’t hold this one against me, I didn’t even write it!”

Jacqui snorts again, sparkling mirth in her dark eyes.

“I can think of _something_ to hold up against you,” she giggles, echoing the lyrics of the song playing.

Something sparks in her gaze, however, and with a quirk on her lips she pushes Aria onto the bed with one hand.

“It’s got a good beat, at least,” says Jacqui, looking Aria up and down and playing with the zipper on her jacket.  They’d attended a formal event before this, so for once Jacqui has more layers on than just pants and a thin tanktop.  She runs a hand down her chest, doesn’t break eye contact with Aria, and Aria feels her mouth go dry.

The song doesn’t matter as much when Jacqui is unzipping her jacket _so slow_ to reveal a white collared shirt far too tight for her.  She’s smirking in the way that makes Aria want to kiss her until neither of them can breathe, but something in the air between them keeps her motionless on the bed.

And then the jacket is gone and so is her shirt and then her bra and then Jacqui stalks over to the bed and puts one foot up on the mattress, towering in front of Aria and demanding wordlessly that Aria finish the job.

Aria swallows hard and unzips Jacqui’s pants, pulls them down so Jacqui can step out of them and she’s left in only a pair of black satin shorts that hug her ass and thighs in a way that makes Aria’s mouth water.  Jacqui puts a hand in her hair, smirks down at her with her full, tempting lips.  Aria gulps, mesmerized, the beat pounding in her ears but unable to distract her from her shirtless, extremely hot girlfriend looking at her like she wants to eat her up.  Jacqui licks her lips, grins, opens her mouth –

“Girl, I wanna touch you in all the right places,” she whispers in time to the song’s chorus, waggling her eyebrows and winking down at Aria.

Aria tackles her to the bed as she cackles, landing on top of her and straddling her hips.

“You ass!” she exclaims as Jacqui giggles under her.  “I can’t believe you would do that!”

“Girl,” croons Jacqui, “you know I’m hooked on you –”

Aria kisses her to shut her up and she can feel Jacqui snickering into her mouth.

“Aw, babe,” says Jacqui when Aria pulls away.  “You know I love all your songs.”  When Aria pouts down at her, Jacqui smiles, pushes a piece of hair behind Aria’s ear.  Her smile takes on a wicked edge.

“You know,” she says casually, “I had _such_ a crush on you when that song came out.”  She pulls Aria down to whisper in her ear, stroking one big hand down her back as she speaks.  “I _may_ have touched myself more than once imagining you in that outfit, singing to me…”

Aria doesn’t let her get any further, pushing her down into the bed and kissing her viciously, feeling Jacqui grin into her mouth.  They don’t do much more talking that night.


	12. samot/hadrian (collars) (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> samot/hadrian and collars, prompted by jag!

It’s hazy here in this space Samot has created for them, trapped inside this single instant.  Hadrian can’t move, can’t speak unless Samot wills it, and icy terror pools in the pit of his stomach.  Samothes’ warm presence never feels like this – aloof and perfect and cold like marble.

Hadrian’s eyes dart over to Tabard, mirroring his position on his knees, unmoving.  He’s the only other person in here with them – Fantasmo and Throndir and the other have disappeared.  Samot puts a hand on Tabard’s head, strokes him like he’s stroking a pet.  The nondescript collar around Tabard’s neck takes on a new significance now as Samot turns cold blue eyes onto Hadrian.

“Service is a choice, Hadrian,” says Samot, voice cool.  “Samothes doesn’t see it that way, but it’s _always_ a choice.”

With deft fingers, he removes the collar from around Tabard’s neck, approaches Hadrian until he’s towering over him, robes flowing as he steps forward.  He lifts Hadrian’s chin up with a finger, exposing his throat.  Hadrian wants to swallow, wants to yell, wants to turn away, but Samot’s eyes keep him pinned there like a specimen under examination.  Like a piece of land Samot wants to conquer or a puzzle he wants to solve.

Gently, too gently, Samot wraps the collar around Hadrian’s neck, cold metal clasp settling just below his Adam’s apple.  Samot hums, pauses for a moment, then removes the cloak from around his shoulders and drapes it over Hadrian’s back.  The collar isn’t so visible now, but it still peeks out from where the cloak latches at the hollow of his throat.

Samot smiles once, cold and distant, and puts a finger underneath the collar, resting between the material and Hadrian’s skin.  He tugs once, and Hadrian finds that he can move again, enough so that he can stretch up to meet Samot where he leans down.

“Keep an open mind, paladin,” he whispers, lips so close to Hadrian’s mouth, breath cool and sweet on his face.

And then Hadrian is on his feet again, sword at Tabard Alon’s throat.


	13. adaire/hella/fero (size kink)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kavi and mammal collectively asked for adaire/hella/fero and size kink! i know you said fero and hella teaching adaire about size kink but 1. hella can only ever be a bottom in my mind and 2. adaire knows what she’s about, so I took some liberties. hope you like it!

Adaire takes a sip of wine, swirls it around her glass and smirks at the tableau before her.

Fero’s on his back among the pillows, head thrown back as Hella eats him out like she’s starving, her hands gripping his thighs.  He can’t stay still, writhing underneath her with a steady stream of profanity escaping his lips.

Adaire leans forward, strokes a hand down the curve of Hella’s back.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, placing her glass on the bedside table and settling on the edge of the mattress next to the pair.  “He’s so _small_.”

She grins at the simultaneous groans that elicits, and on the next pass down Hella’s back she presses down with her nails the way she knows makes Hella shiver.  It’s just so _fun_ to toy with them like this.

Fero sounds like he’s getting close, so Adaire threads a hand into Hella’s hair and shoves her head even further into Fero’s cunt.

“Fero,” she murmurs, and his eyes open to meet hers, their pupils blown wide.  “Look at her _hands_ , Fero.  She could _crush_ you.”

And that’s all it takes for Fero to clench his thighs around Hella’s head, coming hard and babbling as Hella works him through it, _fuck, Hella, Hella, oh god_ spilling haphazard and desperate from his mouth.

Hella pulls back, her mouth shining wet and eyes hazy.  Fero scoots over to make room for Adaire to lay back on the bed, and she crooks a finger at Hella, eyeing the wetness on Hella’s thick, muscled thighs pointedly.

“Come on, sweetheart,” purrs Adaire.  “Let me taste you.”  Hella licks her lips, doubt in her eyes.

“I don’t want to crush you,” she says, voice rasping.  Adaire laughs brightly, looks at Fero who grins back at her.

“Oh, Hella,” she says, taking Hella’s hand and pulling, coaxing her forward until her huge thighs are straddling Adaire’s face.  “That’s the whole point.”


	14. alyosha/arrell (aly is mean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sarah asked for alyosha being mean to arrell and i'm obsessed with alyosha as a hot, young college twink so here we are

“Pupil…”  Arrell whispers, head falling back against the bookshelf.  Alyosha grins against his neck, sucking down his throat.  He just manages to get his hand into Arrell’s robes when Arrell catches his wrist.

“ _Alyosha_ ,” he says, trying to school his features into something stern.  Alyosha pulls back, grinning, a challenge in his eyes.

“What is it, Tutor?” he asks in hushed tones.  “Don’t tell me you’ve never fooled around in here before.”

Arrell casts his eyes to the side, watching for anyone passing by.  They’re in an area of the library rarely tread, the shelves and study carrells dusty from disuse.  By all rights, they shouldn’t be disturbed but it still feels like a kind of sacrilege to Arrell.

Alyosha uses his moment of distraction to drop to his knees, sliding his hands up Arrell’s thighs and mouthing over the slight tenting of Arrell’s robes.  He gasps and immediately claps a hand over his mouth.  Alyosha chuckles quietly, gazes up at Arrell with mirth in his eyes.

“Do you think you can be quiet, Tutor?”

Arrell knows that Alyosha is giving him a chance to back out and he considers it for a long moment, but the suggestion of getting caught sparks something unfamiliar in the pit of his stomach.  He _wants_ to let this beautiful, alluring boy suck him where anyone could walk in and see, and if that makes him a terrible teacher, well… Alyosha is a terrible influence in his turn.

Arrell nods, and Alyosha grins.  He parts Arrell’s robes and takes him out, licking a long line up the underside of his cock.  Arrell bites his lip to muffle his cry, one hand threading into Alyosha’s golden hair and the other gripping white-knuckled at the bookshelf behind him.  Alyosha bobs his head suddenly, taking most of Arrell into his warm, wet mouth and Arrell barely keeps from shouting.

“ _Alyosha_ ,” he breathes.  “You will be the _death_ of me.”

He feels Alyosha smile as much as he can around Arrell, eyes glinting wicked up at him, and Arrell knows he’s absolutely _fucked._


	15. the chime (cuddle puddle, sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LET THE CHIME HAVE A NICE DAY
> 
> prompted by kavi

It starts when Mako goes to flop down on the dilapidated couch in the common area and notices that AuDy is already sitting there.

“Uh, dude?  Whatcha doing?”

“I am sitting.”  When it becomes apparent that AuDy is finished speaking, Mako shrugs, grabs a pillow, and flops down anyways, head in AuDy’s lap.

“This chill?” Mako asks, looking up at the place where AuDy’s face would be.

“It makes no difference to me,” replies AuDy.  Mako decides he doesn’t want to know what’s going through AuDy’s processors and pulls up a holo-screen on his wrist.  AuDy is surprisingly comfortable for someone made entirely of metal.

Aria comes through a while later and snorts at the picture they make on the couch.

“Aria!” exclaims Mako, closing down his screen and making grabby hands at her.  “Come lay on meeeeee.”

Aria chuckles and concedes, flopping on top of Mako and resting her head on his chest.  She knows that he needs this sometimes and hey, it’s not a bad place for a nap, all things considered.

Cass comes through last, datapad in their hand.  They do a double take at the tableau, AuDy trapped underneath Mako, and Aria sprawled on top of him.

“Do I want to know?” they ask, setting the datapad down on a nearby shelf.

“Probably not,” replies Mako.  “Get over here.”

“I’d rather not,” they say, raising an eyebrow.  Mako and Aria pout in unison at their refusal and their combined power makes them basically irresistible.  Cass sighs, walking over and collapsing onto the floor, back up against the couch.  Mako and Aria play with Cass’ dark hair and they let their eyes fall closed, lulled by the repetitive motion of their hands.

“Yo, we should do this more often,” says Mako, breaking the silence.  “Team bonding and all that.”

“Mm-hm,” manages Cass through the stupor of Aria scratching at their scalp.  She giggles.  It’s been too long since anyone touched Cass platonically like this, casual and kind, no expectations beyond the simple comfort of a friend playing with a friend’s hair.  Aria sighs, lets her eyes slip closed.

The Chime might not have many quiet moments, but they learn to cherish them when they come.


	16. castille/maelgwyn (post-date sex)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> simcha requested castille/maelgwyn on a date that leads to something more ;)

Castille might not have skin and hair and nerves anymore, but something about this feels familiar.  Something about Maelgwyn putting his hand on hers, smiling up from under his eyelashes, leaning in close to speak even though the café is quiet – it’s a dance that she remembers in the deepest stone of her, a remnant of a life she’s forgotten.

Maelgwyn offers to walk her home, and she almost remembers this too – remembers what it feels like to put her hand in the crook of his arm, to match the length of her steps to his as they walk down the cobblestone streets to her apartment.

And when he follows her up the stairs, this is second nature too, pushing him up against the door to her apartment and pressing cool stone lips to his.  She’s a little worried that it won’t feel good for him – it’s not like Castille can feel it in any meaningful way herself.  But she lets her muscle memory guide her, and judging from the way he moans into her mouth and scrabbles at her back, she’s doing okay.  Maelgwyn breaks away with a gasp.

“Can we…” he says, licks his full lips.  “Castille, do you want to…?”

And oh, she _does._

She unlocks the door, tugs him inside by the sleeve.  There’s no bed but there is a sofa that she keeps for the occasional visitor or for the couple times that a member of the Six has needed an off-the-radar place to crash for the night.

Now, she collapses onto it and pulls Maelgwyn on top of her.  The ancient furniture creaks under their combined weight but Castille doesn’t notice, too enraptured by the noise Maelgwyn makes when she runs her lips down his neck and tugs on his hair.

“Castille,” he gasps, hips making little aborted motions where he straddles her thigh.  “Castille, can I…”

“Yeah,” she breathes.  She grasps his hips, pulling him firmer down onto her and he moans, hands fisting in her blouse as he grinds down against her.  She wants so _badly_ to stroke him herself, to get him off with her own hands, but she’s afraid of her own strength, afraid of hurting him more than he wants.  So she contents herself with tugging at his hair to hear him moan, with running her hands across his body and mouth along his neck, with leaving hand-shaped bruises on his hips where she held him and controlled the pace of his movements against her.

He comes with her name on his lips, the sound of it a breathy sigh.  She watches as his beautiful face contorts in pleasure, and she’s never before resented her lack of skin more than in this moment.

And then it’s over and he’s breathing hard and Castille strokes a hand down his back in a soothing rhythm until he calms.  He lays his head on the crook of her shoulder, smiles up at her.

“That can’t be comfortable,” she says, smiling softly in return.  He laughs, the sound still bright and ringing in the quiet of the night.

“It’s worth it,” he replies, and for a moment she _swears_ something in her chest beats.


	17. jacqui/aria (gettin' steamy in a club)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> julian requested jacqui and aria gettin' steamy in a club. can these two ever have sex without making it a competition? probably not.

Jacqui doesn’t know if it’s the music or the lights or the drinks that make her say yes when Aria asks her to dance with a wink and a flip of her hair, but she knows she’s _fucked_ when Aria tugs her to the middle of the dance floor and pulls Jacqui in by the hips.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Aria wasn’t always a fighter – that she was a performer by trade, danced for a living and earned her fame through sheer talent and years of work.  Now is not one of those times, with Aria’s hips moving in tight figure eights against Jacqui and her hands twisting gracefully above her head.  It’s hard not to get caught up in her enthusiasm, her charm that bubbles over in her every movement.  The crowd parts for her like she’s the benevolent patron goddess of this seedy club.

She turns around in Jacqui’s arms, grinds against her and runs her hands down her own body, and Jacqui’s breath leaves her in a rush.  Aria lets her head fall back against Jacqui’s shoulder and smirks up at her.  She knows the effect she’s having and delights in the way Jacqui’s breath hitches in her chest, a playful challenge in her eyes.

Never let it be said that Jacqui Green backs down from a challenge.

She grasps Aria’s hips, leans down to skate lips down her neck.  Aria shivers, imperceptible to anyone else but a small victory all the same.  She meets Aria’s hips with her own, kissing back up to her ear, breathing hot against her jaw.

“So you wanted an audience again, huh?” she murmurs against Aria’s ear, pleased to note how Aria’s hips falter for just a moment, how she leans back into Jacqui just a _little_ heavier than before.  Jacqui grins, nips at her earlobe.  “Missed the rush of the stage?  Wanted all those eyes on you, _wanting you_?”

It’s hard to hear, but Jacqui just catches the moan that escapes Aria’s lips as she whirls back around, plastering herself against Jacqui’s front.

“Not fair,” she says, almost yelling to be heard over the crowd and the music.  Jacqui laughs, pulls Aria in for a long kiss, dirty and searing hot.  Jacqui puts her lips next to Aria’s ear again.

“What’s not fair about it, Joie?”

“What’s not _fair_ ,” murmurs Aria, her lips just grazing the piercings lining the shell of Jacqui’s ear, “is that you got me so fucking _wet_ and I can’t do anything about it here.”

Jacqui freezes, the words rushing through her like electricity, and Aria smirks against the corner of her jaw.  Aria knows she’s won this one.

But, Jacqui supposes as her girlfriend tugs her towards the bathrooms, clumsy and laughing and impatient, sometimes losing isn’t so bad at all.


	18. throndir/hadrian/rosana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kavi requested throndir/hadrian/rosana and wow..... how have i never considered this before, it's extremely good

When Rosana had bullied Hadrian into inviting Throndir over for dinner, (“Poor thing, he’s new in town and you just _abandoned_ him?”), he truly, honestly didn’t expect it to turn out this way.  Really, he didn’t.

But Rosana had gotten a few glasses of wine in all of them and Throndir’s presence is just so _warm_ and it slipped out that they had fooled around on their way to the Mark of the Erasure which had sparked something curious and hungry in Rosana’s eyes, and _now_ …

Hadrian’s seated firmly in Throndir’s lap, shifting restlessly as he places slow, wet kisses down Hadrian’s throat.  Throndir’s beard scratches at his skin, but the sheer heat of his lips more than makes up for it.  Hadrian gasps as he reaches the hollow of his throat, worries the skin there between his teeth.  His nails dig into Throndir’s shoulders, and his skin is so _warm_ , even through his shirt.

On their journey, their trysts had often involved many more layers of clothing, the air too cold to remove anything for fear of frostbite.  Now, with the warmth of Velas permeating the room and only thin shirts and pants between them, Hadrian feels sweat gather on his brow as his hips bear down on Throndir’s lap without his conscious permission.  Rosana, still curled up on the couch next to them, strokes a hand down Hadrian’s back.

“You two must have done this often,” she muses, adding nails on the next pass down his spine.  “You certainly know what he likes.”

“Have to keep warm somehow,” says Throndir, a grin playing on his lips as he nips up at the corner of Hadrian’s jaw.  Hadrian groans low in his throat, grinding down into Throndir’s arousal.

Suddenly, Throndir’s lips are gone and Hadrian looks down to see that Rosana has leaned in to kiss him, her hand cupping his jaw and his resting on her collarbone.  They make _such_ a pretty picture, especially when Rosana puts down her wine to thread her other hand into Throndir’s hair and tug and he groans into her mouth.  His hand moves down to grip her thigh, thumb stroking at the newly-exposed skin where her dress has ridden up.  They break apart, breathing heavily, and Rosana grins at him before turning her attention back to Hadrian.

“Come on,” she says, voice low and rasping.  “Show me what you got up to.”

And then Throndir flips them so Hadrian is on his back on the sofa, eyes wide with surprise at being manhandled, and Throndir is kissing down his stomach and Hadrian can’t think at all beyond the heat of Throndir’s lips and Rosana’s gaze on him.

His eyes slip closed, biting back a groan, and he swears he’s never felt warmer.


	19. grand/cascabel (sfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> julian asked for grand/his new assassin boyfriend.......... i am here to Provide

“You’re flustered.  That’s fine.”  Cascabel smiles, his thin lips quirked up on one side.  “I’ll be seeing you.”

He turns to go, but something in the air between them makes Grand reach out, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait!” Cascabel turns, eyes sharp.  Grand pulls his hand back like he’s been burned, fumbling for an excuse.  “Let me, uh…”  Cascabel raises an eyebrow.  “Let me buy you a drink?”  Cascabel laughs, just once.

“Sure, kid.”

Cascabel leads Grand into the only bar in this sparse part of town, a dingy place with a wooden bar and peeling paint on the walls.  The bartender pours them both a strong-smelling liquor that Grand doesn’t recognize.  It makes him cough, but Cascabel downs it like it’s water and laughs at Grand’s expression.  He tells Grand about the area, the Formal Canon, the locals and the factions that occupy Quire.  They talk about Grand’s work, his mechs and his art, though Cascabel’s sensibilities veer far more towards the practical than the abstract or conceptual.

As he gets drunker, Grand feels a strong urge to run his hands through Cascabel’s bright red shock of hair, and he feels himself leaning in closer and closer as they talk.  All the while, Cascabel’s expression never wavers from slightly amused, like Grand’s a particularly entertaining child who’s pretending they’re grown.  On anyone else it would be infuriating, but it just makes Grand want to kiss him more.

Soon enough, the sun begins to set and Cascabel rises, throws a few coins down on the bar.

“Thanks for the drink, Grand Magnificent,” he drawls, tasting every syllable of the name.  “I’ll see you around.”

“Cascabel, I…”  Grand doesn’t know where that sentence is going, and he stands up only to sway on his feet and stumble into Cascabel’s chest.  Cascabel steadies him with hands on his shoulders.  Grand looks up at him, catches his honey-brown eyes, and the breath seizes in his chest.

“Careful, now,” he says, amusement in his voice.  He’s half a foot taller than Grand and his face is dangerously close – close enough that if Grand leaned up just a couple inches he could lock their mouths together.  But he’s frozen as Cascabel tilts his face up with a knuckle under his chin, breath cool and sweet.

“Take care of yourself, Grand Magnificent,” he says, smile stretching across his lips.

And then as quickly as he arrived, Cascabel is gone, leaving Grand standing in the middle of an almost-empty barroom, flush bright and burning on his cheeks.


	20. cass/mako (blushing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the fuck discord was talking about cass being a sex blusher and ALSO apostolosians glowing when they blush so honestly how could i resist

They’ve been on stakeout for two hours, and in that time, Mako has: half-completed three different word puzzles, rearranged his music library, painted a terrible holo-portrait of Cassander, and bounced his leg so viciously that Cassander actually had to hold his leg down to make him stop.

“Cass, I’m so fucking _bored_ ,” he whines, arms folded and pout barely visible in the almost-dark of the tiny space.

“Mako, I don’t fucking _care_ ,” they shoot back, mimicking his tone and not taking their eyes off the dead drop point they’re meant to be monitoring.  Mako groans, flopping against the wall.  It’s cramped in the blind they’re using to hide, barely enough room for the two of them, but they’re practically invisible from the street.

“Come on, Cass, no one’s coming,” he says.  “At least let me eat you out or _something_.”

Cassander inhales sharply, choking on air and coughing.

“Absolutely not,” they manage, a blush rising to their cheeks.  They’ve only fooled around a couple times and they’re still getting used to the brazen way that Mako just says whatever’s on his mind, even if that thing is that he wants to give them oral _on a stakeout._

“Please, Cass?  They’re not supposed to be here for another hour and I know you’re bored too, and--”

Cassander stops him with a raised hand and they pinch the bridge of their nose, willing their blush down.  They’re sure it isn’t visible yet, but if Mako doesn’t stop talking, it might get there.

But then Mako’s suddenly way too close and his hand is on their thigh and they can feel his breath on their ear.

“ _Please?”_

Cassander groans, defeated in the face of that tone, and widens their legs enough for Mako to gleefully slither between them on the ground.  He leans up, kisses them on the cheek, the corner of their mouth, down their throat.  Cassander’s blush hasn’t abated at all, much to their chagrin, and they can feel it spreading down their neck to their chest as Mako fumbles open their pants and yanks them down enough to get his mouth on their hipbone, hot and eager.

“Cass, can I…”

Cassander doesn’t answer, just takes hold of Mako’s hair and shoves his face into them.  Mako groans at the roughness of their nails on his scalp and gets to work, parting their folds with a long swipe of his tongue and smearing their wetness all over his lips.  He’s a quick study, figuring out what makes Cassander tense and moan and clench their fingers in his hair.

Cassander’s panting now, blush spreading down their chest and stomach and burning in their cheeks.  It’s showing through their skin, painting the cramped blind in a faint blue glow as their bioluminescent patches slowly illuminate.

Mako gets them to their peak quick and dirty, their wetness dripping down his chin and his hands gripping their shuddering thighs to steady them as their orgasm hits them hard.  They bite back a low groan, both hands fisted in Mako’s hair.  Cass releases their hold by slow increments as they come down, and eventually they lean back, eyes closed.

“Holy shit,” comes Mako’s voice from between their legs, and they look to see him staring up at them in awe.

“What.”

“Cass, holy shit, you’re _glowing.”_

Cassander brings a hand to their heated face and Mako grins gleefully, scrambling up to straddle their lap and cup their jaw, turning their head this way and that to inspect the luminescent patches on their high cheekbones.

“Why didn’t you tell me you glowed!”

“I didn’t think it was important!” Cassander shoots back, still a little hazy from their orgasm.  Mako runs his fingers over their cheeks, down their throat, following the glowing trail.  It’s certainly not doing anything to bring their blush down.  They clear their throat.  “It’s really not that special.”

“No, dude, this is _sick_ ,” Mako whispers, strangely reverent in a way that makes Cassander a little uncomfortable and a little flattered all at the same time.  It’s too strange to deal with right now so Cass instead leans forward and catches Mako’s lips in a messy kiss, losing themself in it and pulling Mako tighter against their chest.  They can feel his arousal pressing up against their stomach and they snake a hand in-between their bodies, palming him and making him groan.

“Think you can be quiet?” they ask, still close enough to graze Mako’s lips when they speak.

“Try me,” grins Mako.  His face is still slightly illuminated by Cassander’s glow and they lean in to capture his swollen lips again, stakeout completely forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO: THANK YOU MADDIE FOR DRAWING A THING BASED ON THIS, EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS: https://twitter.com/drowzydruzy/status/896131293565468672


	21. throndir/alyosha (sharing a bed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mammal asked for throndir/alyosha sharing a sleeping bag..... GET A LOAD OF THESE SOFT, SWEET BOYS

It’s a cold night, the coldest in a while, and Alyosha is shivering next to him in the tent.  They have plenty of blankets, but Alyosha is a slight man, barely any body fat to keep him warm unlike Throndir, who has spent his whole life in the cold.  Throndir can hear him shifting around restlessly and he can _feel_ the waves of discomfort radiating off of him in the dark.  After far too much of this, Throndir heaves a sigh.

“Hey, get over here,” he whispers, lifting the blankets.

“Oh,” Alyosha replies, faint and a bit confused.  “Ah, that’s very kind, but I’ll be fine.  Thank you.”

Throndir snorts – it still baffles him, the hang-ups these people have.  In Auniq, you learned to sleep in piles of people for warmth, to stay close to fight off the creeping cold, to not be too picky about your bedmates when the air itself could kill you in your sleep.

“Come on,” he says, insistent. “What kind of ranger would I be if I let an Exarch freeze to death in my tent.”

Alyosha hesitates just a moment more before he acquiesces, scooting over until he’s pressed up against Throndir’s side.  Throndir wraps an arm around his shoulders.  The man is freezing, and Throndir can’t help but pull him in closer, bury his face in Alyosha’s sweet-smelling hair, down from its braid for the night.  Eventually, he stops shivering, relaxes in Throndir’s arms, murmurs a quiet, “thank you.”  His hair is so _soft_.

It’s been a while since Throndir has slept next to anyone and he flashes back to nights keeping warm in other ways, moving in the dead of night to fight off the bitter chill with lips and teeth and hands.  And Alyosha is _pretty_ , prettier than a clergyman has any right to be, and his energy is so _generous._   He wonders…

Throndir takes a deep breath, steadies himself.

“You know,” he begins, trying to keep his voice casual.  “There are better ways to keep warm.”

Alyosha chuckles, quiet and low.  He turns in Throndir’s arms to face him, and in the dark he can see the faint outline of Alyosha’s lips quirked up at the sides.

“I think I can guess what those might be,” he says, and leans in to kiss Throndir gently.  Throndir makes a startled noise against his lips – he wasn’t expecting Alyosha to be quite so forward, but it’s a pleasant surprise nonetheless.  Alyosha’s mouth is soft and clever, and Throndir squeezes Alyosha’s thin hips as he bites at Throndir’s lower lip.  Their breaths are coming shorter and faster, and Throndir pulls away, kisses down Alyosha’s neck to hear him gasp and grip at Throndir’s hair.

They stay like that for a while, leaving stinging marks on each other’s throats and grinding their hips together, until finally Alyosha turns around again, hikes up his robes in an invitation.

“Come on,” he gasps, and Throndir wraps his hands around Alyosha’s hips, fucks his thighs with a low groan.  He bites at the back of Alyosha’s neck and he gasps, high and soft.  Alyosha’s wetness slicks the way, smearing across his inner thighs as Throndir fucks between them.  Alyosha reaches down to rub furiously at his own clit, their moans climbing together until Alyosha clenches and groans, coming messy over Throndir’s cock.  Throndir can’t help but taste his energy, siphon off some of that bright, sparkling vitality into himself.  It’s not enough to sate him, not by a long shot, but he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt Alyosha.

Alyosha flips around again, leans down to take Throndir’s cock into his clever mouth, and in moments Throndir is done for, shaking apart as Alyosha sucks him through it.

They end up spooned together, Alyosha’s thin form held tight against Throndir’s soft chest and stomach.

“You were right, I feel much warmer,” chuckles Alyosha, and Throndir can’t help but laugh with him, pulling him in tighter.

“Told you,” he replies, and they drift off to sleep, warm in their cocoon of blankets.


	22. samot/samothes (rope bondage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i asked for samsam prompts and kavi said rope bondage!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stared at this pic a lot while writing this http://pin.it/xYN9-bY

Samot ties the last knot at the small of Samothes’ back, steps away to survey his work with a pleased hum.  He walks a slow circle around his husband, blindfolded and bound in the middle of the room, occasionally drawing a finger along his shoulder or down his chest or soft at the inside of his wrist.  It makes Samothes shiver, feeling like a relic in a museum or an animal being appraised for its worth.

“Would you like to see yourself, my love?”

Samothes nods, not trusting his own voice.  Samot tugs the blindfold off slowly, dark silk giving way to soft candlelight.

When he catches his reflection in the tall mirror, the breath leaves him all at once.  His arms are pulled behind his back, stretching his shoulders and chest taut, and there are intricate diamonds that lead from his collarbone down to his cock, hardening where it’s nestled in his folds.  Samot laughs at his expression – kind, but hungry.

“Do you like it?” he asks, pressing himself up against Samothes’ back and hooking his head over his shoulder.  Samot’s hair tickles the back of his neck.

“It’s…”  He licks his lips, trying to form words.  “It’s beautiful.”

“You wear it well,” grins Samot, stroking down Samothes’ chest with his long, thin fingers.  He presses hot kisses to the side of Samothes’ throat, digs nails into his hips, gathers Samothes’ wetness on his fingers before stroking his cock.  Samothes squirms where he stands, knees threatening to buckle but Samot’s warm presence behind him keeps him upright.  The ropes chafe _deliciously._

Samot strokes him in earnest now, their eyes never breaking contact in the mirror.  Samothes has never felt more _possessed_ than in this moment – Samot standing behind him, fully clothed and composed against his own body, stretched taut and transformed into living art of Samot’s own design.  His hips cant into Samot’s hand, arms and shoulders straining against the corded pattern, and a soft whine escapes his lips without his permission.  Samot grins at that, bites his neck sharp and possessive.

“So _wet_ ,” says Samot, circling his entrance in a tease but not giving him the satisfaction of being filled.  He can feel wetness dripping down his thigh.  He moans.  “So beautiful, all tied up for me.”

And then Samot slips his finger into him and Samothes keens, tosses his head back and comes shaking on Samot’s hand.  The ropes dig into his skin but he doesn’t _care_ , savors the burn in his back and shoulders as he clenches on Samot’s finger and cries out.

Samot places burning kisses on his jaw.  When Samothes is recovered enough, Samot moves to grab the knife off the bedside table to cut him free.  Samothes turns, twists around to glimpse the knotwork at his back in the mirror, hums in satisfaction.

“Pity you have to cut them,” he says, voice rasping.  “They really are beautiful.”  Samot laughs, kisses his cheek before starting on the first of the knots.

“Then we’ll have to try again sometime.”


	23. cass/mako (nip play)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dear meghan and julian on fuck twitter: uhhh thanks

He discovers it almost on accident – they’re making out lazily in Cass’ bed, Mako straddling their hips and their hands in his hair, directing the kiss.  They have _time_ for once, no adrenaline involved, and Mako plans to use that time wisely.

He runs his hands down their chest absently, laser-focused on their tongue in his mouth, but he can't _not_ notice the way they shudder when he brushes their nipples over their thin t-shirt.  He pauses, hums into Cass' mouth, and does it more deliberately, fingertips circling feather-light on their chest.  Their gasp is soft but gratifying and Mako can't help but grin.

He pulls back, makes eye contact with Cass and doesn't break it as he leans down to ghost his lips over their nipples, one then the other, humming to send buzzing vibrations into Cass' skin.  The result is immediate - Cass arches up, biting back a curse and gripping tight at Mako’s hips.

“Mako,” they say, obviously meant to be a warning but coming out more like a plea, and Mako cuts them off by closing his lips around one of their nipples, sucking through the thin material of their shirt, soaking the fabric with his spit.  He doesn’t take his eyes off their face, tongue circling slow, and he’s never seen Cass this immediately _wrecked_.  He desperately wants to wreck them even more.

Mako sneaks his hand up under their shirt, rubbing soft circles into their other nipple as he works his mouth on the first, and they’re panting now – he can feel their labored breaths under his lips.  Mako’s _so hard_ , but it’s easy to ignore when Cass makes _that noise_ as he closes his teeth around their nipple, sharp and sudden.

“Fuck _, fuck, Mako –!”_

Mako shoves Cass’ t-shirt up to bunch under their armpits, leaning down again to bite at the stiff peak without the barrier of fabric and they groan, fisting Mako’s hair roughly, nails scrabbling at his scalp.  Their hips buck up against him as he soothes the bite with his tongue, rolling their other nipple between his fingers.  Mako looks up at their face, tense with pleasure and eyes screwed shut, and it leaves him breathless.

“God, Cass, you’re so hot,” he breathes.  He switches nipples, laving his tongue over the other and scraping his nails lightly around the one he just left off.  Cass keens, hips rolling in earnest now against Mako where he’s straddling them.  Their breath is coming fast and short, and Mako shivers at the sight, pulling back and pinching both nipples at once.  Cass swears, sharp.

“Shit, could you come just from this?” Mako asks, rolling the tight buds between his fingers.  Cass tosses their head to the side.

“ _Fuck_ , maybe, I don’t know, don’t fucking _stop –”_

Mako scoots his hips back enough to get a hand into Cass’ pants, cupping their arousal so they can rut up against the heel of his hand.  He leans down, closes his teeth around the reddened, swollen skin of their chest, teasing with the tip of his tongue while he runs his thumb in slow circles around the other.

Soon enough, Cass is coming hard, grinding down against Mako’s palm and tightening their grip in his hair as they shudder through it.  They’re panting as they come down, eyes screwed shut and chest heaving under Mako’s mouth.  He can’t resist licking at them one last time and they shiver, overstimulated and oversensitive.  They yank him up by the hair to kiss him hard, mouth swollen from biting their own lips.  Mako pulls back to look at them, flush still high on their cheeks and hair pulled loose from its braid.

“That was maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, grinning when their flush deepens and they pull him back in to shut him up.


	24. (rosana, alyosha, samot, samothes)/hadrian - dom/sub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hadrian gets dommed by all his lovers in sequence
> 
> thanks alix and ronnie for inspiration :*

Rosana had left fewer marks than she'd usually leave on him -- she knows he has a long day ahead.  He'd come once with her, orgasm light and shivery and a little bit unsatisfying, nothing like the bone-deep pleasure of a longer scene.  She kisses him soft, smiling with a wicked edge as she ties the silks tight around his wrists, one at each corner of the headboard, per Alyosha's instructions.  She leaves him with a kiss to his forehead, teasing fingertips down his chest just to make him shiver before she goes.  
  
Alyosha takes his time with him, bringing him close to his peak again and again and again, letting him shake and thrash himself to sweaty exhaustion.  He talks Hadrian through it, sweet praise mixed with filthy conjecture of what Samot might do with him, what Samothes might say.  Alyosha only lets up on him when Hadrian finally goes limp and pliant, too tired to struggle and finally in that headspace where all he wants to do is obey, perfectly and absolutely.  
  
"Good," Alyosha murmurs, "very good."  Finally, *finally* he wraps his hand around Hadrian's cock, lets him come and there's that satisfying, bone-deep pleasure.  He comes back to himself and finds that he's whimpering.  Alyosha strokes over his face, frees his wrists, holds him and rubs at the tender places where the silks have made angry red marks.  
  
"You did so well for me," he says, "but you know the worst is yet to come."  Hadrian shudders, remembering, rasping, "I-- I don't know if I *can* --"  Alyosha stops him with a gentle kiss.  "Of *course* you can," he soothes, hand carding through Hadrian's hair.  "You're so strong, you'll do *perfectly* for him."  That's where Alyosha leaves him, tense anticipation starting to overtake the weakness in his limbs.  
  
Samot enters, smile sharp and hungry, wicked-looking crop in his hand.  "Hello, paladin," he purrs, climbing up on the bed to kneel over Hadrian and kiss him hard and rough, all teeth and intent.  His presence is so different from Alyosha's, hard edges where the priest was a soft tease.  
  
"Are you ready to begin?"  Hadrian's not sure how anyone could ever be *ready* for this, but he nods all the same.  Samot rewards him with a biting kiss.  "Good," he says, hand tight in Hadrian's hair.  "Hands and knees, and you'll ask me for each one."  
  
He's a little self-conscious asking for the first few, but Samot soon has his ass burning and his back lined with deep scratches from his nails, marks angry-red.  Now he doesn't even really register the words falling from his lips, focus entirely on the bite of the crop on his already inflamed skin.  He's floating, drifting -- he barely even realizes that he's crying halfway through until he tastes salt and feels the tears falling.  
  
"Please," Hadrian gasps out, "Please, I can't take any more, please, please --"  
  
"You'll take exactly what I give you," replies Samot, striking him several times in succession.  Hadrian groans, squirming away from the impact but there's nowhere to go, he's trapped and helpless.  Samot will give him *no less than what he deserves* --  
  
Hadrian barely even registers the blows ceasing, Samot stroking over his hair, kissing the nape of his neck and down his spine, murmuring soft praise.  Everything's so hazy, he scarcely notices when Samot leaves him until there's another presence entirely, warm where Samot was cold, broad and soft where Samot was sharp.  Samothes leans back against the headboard, gathering Hadrian into his lap.  Hadrian shudders when his raw skin makes contact with Samothes' thighs, caught up in his lord's overwhelming warmth.  Not many people can make him feel small like this.  
  
"Oh, look at you," murmurs Samothes, cupping Hadrian's cheeks and pulling back to look him over, taking in his red-rimmed eyes and swollen mouth.  "My paladin, you've done so *well*."  Hadrian buries his face in the crook of Samothes neck, sobbing when his lord takes him in hand and strokes him off slow and steady, murmuring gentle praise.  It's so much, so *much*, the world hazy at the edges and narrowed down only to Samothes' hand on him.  When he comes, it feels like prayer, like the end of a long journey that's left him exhausted and boneless and perfectly pliable.  He lets Samothes guide him down to lie on his side, spooning him and surrounding him in radiant warmth.  He's safe now, it's over, he did so, so well for all of them.  Samothes strokes over the marks they've left on him and kisses the nape of his neck and holds him until Hadrian finally stops shivering and his mind clears enough to turn around in Samothes' arms and kiss him.  He pours his thanks and reverence into the kiss as much as he can and is rewarded by a gentle smile.  
  
"Back with us?" he asks, and it takes Hadrian a second to nod.  He's not sure he can speak yet, but that's okay.  He knows his lord will take care of him.


End file.
